Bitter Reunion
by DeathByMushrooms
Summary: ‘It’s been ten years since we were all in the same room. I wish it didn’t have to be such a bitter reunion.’ An emergency calls the old friends together one more time… [Set ten years after the series finale] Also, my first Friends fanfic!


Bitter Reunion 

**A/N:** Prelude. Next chapter is the real deal. This is mostly just to catch you up with the characters and what they're doing. And how they react to Chandler's letter, which is virtually the same. Also – this is my first _Friends_ fanfic!****

**Summary:** 'It's been ten years since we were all in the same room. I wish it didn't have to be such a bitter reunion.' An emergency calls the old friends together one more time… [Set ten years after the series finale]

**Disclaimer:** _Friends_ is copyright NBC, Marta Kauffman, David Crane… yada, yada – you know the drill. Nothing's mine.

"Ross!"

He turned back to the door. "Mhm?"

"Get the mail while you're out, alright?"

Ross nodded towards his wife and slid into his Volvo. For almost ten years he had lived in a two-story house with his wife, Rachel, their four kids, and granddaughter. Ross' oldest son, Ben, was twenty, and in college. Three years prior, Ben had come to his father seeking help – he was going away to study medicine soon and needed someone to keep up with his illegitimate daughter. Normally he would ask his mother, but she had her hands busy with a new job. Ross and Rachel accepted the girl on the grounds that Ben would stay on top of his studies.

Backing out of the garage was, as always, a problem: the Gellers' second child together, nine-year-old Jake, had stashed all his sporting equipment against the back of Ross' car.

"Oh come on." Ross slid down the window. "JAKE!" he yelled at the brick wall that separated his house and garage.

A small boy with wavy brown hair poked his head out of the storm door. "What now?"

"Jake. Mess behind the car. Move it," said Ross lightly.

The boy shrugged somewhat and kicked the jumble of his athletic gear nearer to the wall.

"Better?" he said, looking towards the car.

"Much. Thank-you." Ross then backed out of the garage and headed to his auto dealer.

"…and the keys, Dr. Geller." Ross handed the man behind the desk the keys to his Volvo. "Do you plan on going out while we service you?"

"I do. You can reach me at my cell when the car's finished. 309-1649."

"Thank-you. Have a nice wait."

Ross nodded and stepped outside to call a cab. The garage would take at least an hour to check and change his oil – he could check the mail during that time.

"Junk. Junk. Bill. Junk. Emma's. Bill. Rachel's. Paycheck. Bill. Junk. ...Chandler Bing?" Ross held up a white envelope with Chandler's hurried writing on it. "Hmm…" He curiously opened it to reveal nothing but a note card. It was short and to the point. Ross read it repeatedly, but the only words that managed to escape his mouth were "Oh my God…"

* * *

Rachel Geller ran a hand through her hair. "Emma, get off the phone!"

"One minute!" shouted a young voice from upstairs.

She took a deep breath. "You have homework. _Get off the phone_!"

_Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. _"I bet Aunt Monica doesn't do this to her kids…" mumbled the girl that had appeared at the bottom of the steps.

Rachel chose to ignore her daughter's complaints. She considered herself to be a _very good_ parent, but she also believed there was no point in punishing her children for sarcasm.

"When will Dad be home? I'm hungry," whined Rachel's five-year-old daughter, Kerry, who was sitting at the dining room table staring at her empty plate.

"Um ... he should be here any minute," said Rachel uncertainly.

Coincidentally, the sound of an opening garage door met her ears at just that second. "He's here now."

"Daddeeeeeeeeeeee!" A six-year-old girl called Ella ran through the house to the garage door, which she flung open vigorously. "DADDY!"

Rachel leaned against the doorframe and watched her husband exit his car. She frowned at the look on his face: drained, exhausted, and somewhat pale.

"Ross?" she said apprehensively.

He did not respond. He walked up the steps and into the house. He threw the mail down on the nearest table and made his way listlessly to the living room, where he then sat down on the couch. Ella sat down next to him, chattering on about what she had done during the ninety minutes he had been gone.

"Ross?" Rachel repeated.

He looked up at her, his eyes rather watery. "Have you heard from Chandler and Monica lately?" he said in a quiet tone.

"No, not since we went to see them last winter." Rachel sat down on his other side of Ross.

He bowed his head. "Why don't you go play, Ella?" he said.

The girl got up and ran through the house and up the stairs. Ross then took out a folded envelope and handed to his wife.

"What's – "

"Just read it."

Rachel unfolded it, and recognized Chandler's handwriting right away. She opened the envelope to a white note card. She smiled. "Monica's pregnant!"

"Keep reading," said Ross gravely.

She continued to read the card. When she had finished, she looked up at him, horrified. "Ross… oh my God."

* * *

Joey Tribbiani had made his break co-starring in a television series called _Nothing But Time_ eight years ago. Sure, he played the moronic character, but everyone loved him for it. The show still ran, but Joey left the series when his contract expired in the fifth season; he had his start.

The films, though, were not offered in large quantities, as he had once thought they would be. He had done two movies. In one he had acted alongside Brad Pitt in _Ain't Life Grand?_, a B-rate comedy. The other had gotten him some more well-deserved fame. Unfortunately, the film was a flop, but Joey's name and reputation had come out more than unscathed.

Joey's agent, Kip Matlock, had failed copiously in trying to land the middle-aged actor a decent film. It had been a year since he had been offered anything.

"Tribbiani, I think we might have something soon!"

Joey looked up from his T-bone steak. "Oh, yeah?" He stood, but not before sliding the steak out of view; he was very paranoid about his food.

"Yep. Guess who Elijah Wood wants to play the moron in his next movie," said Kip enthusiastically.

"Me," said Joey hopefully.

"Ah, no. But you're fourth on the list. I think we can get through 'em."

Nodding, Joey said slowly, "Who's in front of me?"

"Uh, well – nobody too hard.... AshtonKutcherJimmyFallonandOwenWilson," Kip said in a hurry.

"No problem," he stated confidently.

Kip frowned and shrugged. "I'll do my best, but I can't promise you'll get it."

"Where have I heard that…" mumbled Joey.

"Are you available tonight?" said Kip, apparently having chosen to ignore the actor's comment.

Joey thought for a moment. "Hmm… nope. Dinner with Kendra. I think it was Kendra…"

Kip rolled his eyes. "When _will_ you be free?"

"Next Tuesday. After three and before eight." Joey turned to the window idly.

"Uh-huh. By the way – " Kip reached into a messenger bag that he had strung around his neck. "Mail came." He pulled out several envelopes. "It looks like two fan letters, a love letter from Jennifer Coldiron, and something from that Chandler guy you're friends with."

Joey spun back around. "Chandler sent me something? Give it to me."

A short, hurried letter was inside of the envelope. "Oh my God." He looked up at Kip and his eyes widened. "Get me a flight to New York."

* * *

Phoebe didn't know where things had gone wrong. She had fixed dinner one night (by herself, she might add. A very rare event), and Mike had walked into the house as if nothing was wrong. He looked her straight in the eye and said plainly, "I want a divorce." She couldn't remember anything having gone wrong. She did know, however, that somewhere along the line, her husband had left her with a set of twins and a newborn.

That was two years ago. Mike still came around now and then to maintain a "still friends" relationship ("for the kids," he had told Phoebe numerously). He paid child support and then some, and got the children on weekends. He never had any women over while he had the kids. He never spoke ill of Phoebe (around them, at least). He never swore or drank. He never allowed them to stay up past eleven o'clock on weekends. He fed them nourishing foods with limited snacks. Overall, Mike maintained a spotless record as a father.

It was just the role of "still friends" he needed to work on. Sometimes when he came to visit, he would act as if he and Phoebe had never met. Other times, it was like they were still married. Rarely would he find a medium.

Mike, Phoebe, and their three children, Frank, Mike Junior, and Penelope, had lived in a fairly large house near Ross and Rachel Geller. Now Phoebe lived in a medium-sized apartment, while Mike had made his home in what most people would call a bachelor pad – a nice but small apartment in uptown New York City.

"Mom," said nine-year-old Mike Jr., "Mom! Mom, Frank took the mail. I was going to give it to you, but Frank took it!"

"Tell him to give it back," said Phoebe, who was flipping through a magazine.

"I did and he won't."

"Tell him he's in trouble if he doesn't."

Mike ran from the living room to the room the twins shared. Phoebe heard the two boys shouting at one another. Then they both came running back, each holding a few envelopes each.

"Here's the mail," they said in unison.

Phoebe smiled and took it from them. Bills, something about boy scouts for Frank and Mike, payment from her ex-husband, and – a letter from Chandler Bing.

"Oh! Monica's pregnant! I thought Chandler… oh dear God."

**A/N:** End prelude. The next chapter is probably the final one.


End file.
